


a sudden proposal

by sometimeseffable



Series: Ineffable Godfathers [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale likes cake, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, marriage proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeseffable/pseuds/sometimeseffable
Summary: Adam's godfathers show up for his twelfth birthday, and the ladies of Tadfield get certain Ideas about them. Ideas that, now that Aziraphale thinks about it, hold some merit.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Godfathers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420939
Comments: 21
Kudos: 293





	a sudden proposal

Aziraphale finds he likes talking about Crowley rather a lot.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Oh, ages. Practically since the beginning.”

The women coo. “High school sweethearts, how romantic!”

“Er, actually, the getting together bit was fairly recent. Our, uh, families weren’t too keen on it, so. Well. It was mostly me who put it off, I think Anthony would have been ready to elope a few thousand years ago.”

If there’s anything odd about the statement, the group doesn’t show it. They simply laugh it off as a humorous exaggeration, which Aziraphale is grateful for. Sometimes he forgets how time works for humans.

“Families can be hard,” says Candace sympathetically.

“Indeed. Took a while to get over thinking Gabriel would show up at my door just to tell me off - “ Aziraphale freezes, realizing the slip up far too late. Susan just clucks her tongue.

“Older brother?” 

Relieved, Aziraphale nods. “A fairly overbearing one at that.”

“I know  _ all  _ about that,” Deidre interrupts. Adam’s mother had been, with a little demonic intervention, graciously welcoming of Adam’s ‘godfathers’ dropping in on the boy’s twelfth birthday party. Even if it was completely unannounced. “When Arthur proposed, my sister was  _ not  _ happy with me. Kept wanting me to get back with my ex, you remember John from secondary school? Well, I told her, I said…”

Aziraphale lets the idle chatter wash over him, pleased to be part of a human social gathering for the first time since Portland Place gentleman’s club closed. He glances over to where Crowley is busy entertaining the Them, and can’t help but smile.

The demon is engaging in a non-lethal watergun fight with the kids and Newt. The teams had started off as strictly Adults vs Kids, and has since devolved into Newt running around yelping as Crowley tag-teams with the Them in a desperate bid to get him soaked to the bone. They seem to have devised an exceedingly efficient battle strategy.

Aziraphale can just catch the edge of fangs in his demon’s manic grin. His entirely too-human heart flutters at the sight of Crowley letting go of his ridiculously aloof facade and having  _ fun  _ for once _.  _ Such a rare sight after centuries of looking over his shoulder, unappreciated by his colleagues and at constant risk of Hell’s displeasure.

“Anthony certainly knows how to handle kids,” someone remarks, bringing Aziraphale back to the present. “Do you ever want some of your own?”

He flushes under the August sun. “ _ Oh -  _ well, um, we’ve never - never really discussed it.” 

The answer was a hard  _ no _ , but the angel felt rather uncomfortable discussing the delicate horror of watching onesselve outlive their human children. Thankfully, Candace comes to his aid.

“Understandable. Anne and I didn’t even consider having kids until they passed the marriage act. I remember the day they passed it. Hopeless romantics, we were, we got married the very next day. It was all very exciting.”

There’s a moment of wistful joy as Candace gives him a knowing look, eyes quickly flicking down to the winged ring on Aziraphale’s pinky. He blushes harder.

“Oh,” he demurs, “No, we’re not - “

“Everything alright over here?” Crowley materializes at Aziraphale’s shoulder, somehow bone dry despite that he’d been manning a SuperSoaker 9000 for the better part of an hour. A plate slides smoothly into the angel’s lap. “Cake, angel?”

The women all twitter at the pet name. Suddenly, the idea of correcting Candace’s assumptions seems terribly wrong as Crowley settles into the lawn chair next to him, arm slung loose over Aziraphale’s shoulders. His demon is wildly animated in his storytelling, wooing the ladies further. Aziraphale listens to him with a flutter of pride and quietly eats his cake, contemplative. 

The drive back to London is spent in comfortable silence. What had begun as Tchaikovesky’s 14th symphony has morphed slowly into the heart-aching refrains of  _ Love of My Life _ . Crowley hums along softly, fingers laced through Aziraphale’s on the angel’s knee as he steers one-handed. 

Aziraphale watches him. Warm light from the setting August sun catches his hair so that it shines like fire, painting delicate gold over high cheekbones. Those infernal glasses cover his eyes, yet he imagines they would be soft with contentment. In fact, with all the tension loosened from his shoulders, radiating love like a furnace as he is, Aziraphale is quite sure this is the most relaxed and - dare he say it -  _ happy  _ Crowley has ever been in his presence. Possibly, and he would be remiss not to consider it, his happiest since the Fall. 

All of a sudden, the millennia he’s spent denying they were even friends feels like an anchor crushing his chest, collapsing his ribcage until he can barely breathe.

They break the silence at nearly the same time.

“So, I was thinking when we got back, we could get - “

“We should get married.”

Since they’re doing just ten over the speed limit, the Bentley’s screeching halt holds less promise of imminent discorporation than usual. Neither being moves; Aziraphale’s heart beats a rapid tattoo in his chest as Crowley stares at the road ahead of them, mouth ajar.

“...Thai,” the demon croaks, “I was gonna suggest Thai. Hang on, back up, you want us to  _ what?”  _

Aziraphale wishes the seat would open and swallow him whole in a fit of cliche. “I - I said perhaps we should get married,” he says, voice sounding terribly small even to his own ears, “I just - well, I was talking to Candace, you know, Deidre’s friend, and - and she made an excellent point regarding - “

“Okay.”

“Sorry?”

“Okay,” Crowley repeats. The black glasses leave his face unreadable, “We’ll get married.”

It does not sound like the most enthused of proposal acceptances. 

Aziraphale feels the swell of assured confidence deflate a touch. “Oh. Right then. Tickety...boo.”

Crowley nods and turns back to the road. The Bentley makes it another ten meters before it stops again.

“I can’t go in a church.”

“Loads of people get married other ways, dear.” Aziraphale wonders if that were a true concern, or a deflection that could be used as a big red TERMINATE button.

“Right.”

Another two meters before they stop.

Aziraphale throws up his hands, exasperated. “Oh for  _ Hell’s sake,  _ if you don’t want to marry then we won’t! _ ” _

“No!” Crowley yelps, strangled. He twists his ridiculously lanky body to face the angel, and were he capable of it, there would probably be sweat on his brow, “It’s not that, it’s just. Like married married. Like you want to spend the rest of eternity trapped in a legally binding contract to me in the eyes of the Almighty, and you think we won’t tear each other up because sssomeone’s leaving the telly on or dishesss in the sssink, and it’sss not too fassst - “

Aziraphale kisses him.

The rest of Crowley’s diatribe is muffled into a short  _ mmph.  _ Instinctively, his hands come up to frame Aziraphale’s face, protective as always. Aziraphale pushes the glasses back up into his hair. Wide gold eyes blink at him, terrified and hopeful and oh-so smitten.

Aziraphale presses another reverent kiss to his palm. “Too fast?”

“Never.” Crowley lets out a shaky breath. “Whatever you want, angel, s’long as you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure.” Aziraphale kisses him full on the mouth again, slow and sweet. Then he pulls away with a frown. “Don’t we miracle the dishes clean?”

“It’s an expression,” Crowley mumbles before swooping in for a thorough snog. Aziraphale’s hand tangles in his fiance’s hair - oh, but isn’t that a thought? A very, very lovely thought. Someone snaps their fingers; they fall, giggling, into the back seat, trading fervent, giddy kisses. 

London can wait. They’ve got all the time they need.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! More to come in this lil mini series. Comments and kudos are my bread and butter :)


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